


Devilish Behavior

by ablindromance



Category: Devilman Crybaby - Fandom
Genre: Devilman - Freeform, Devilman Crybaby, F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 23:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13692384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ablindromance/pseuds/ablindromance
Summary: Akira reflects on a few things.





	Devilish Behavior

**Author's Note:**

> This was done as part of a writing prompt challenge.  
> Prompt: The book fell from my hand and opened to page 257...
> 
> Explicit language and descriptions within. NSFW.

The full moon hung heavy in the black night sky. Its face burned a foreboding hue, as if it were dipped in molten blood, and the orange-to-red gradient concentrated darkest at its lower half. The huge, imposing body seemed much too close to the Earth; "Super moon," they called it. Beneath it, I've never felt more alive. 

Ever since I got this body, all my senses have been superhuman. Nah, more like inhuman. I could hear, taste, smell, and see better than I ever could before that fateful night I became what I am now. As advantageous as it is to be aware of everything and physically capable of anything, I was being driven crazy by my heightened sensitivity. 

This was a stupid idea. Apparently I didn't learn my lesson from the last time with Silene. Yet here I was, trudging around the red light district like a masochistic field trip. The smokey, hearty smell of grilled meat and greasy chunks of fried chicken twisted my insatiable stomach into knots; I was always hungry. The only thing rivaling that (and winning) was my need to fuck. Even though I loved Miki, I couldn't take advantage of her like that. Her folks and mine were close, so her parents practically raised us like brother and sister though she later became the object of my unexpressed affection. I don't think I could actually ever confess to her even with the 180 degree change to my personality, either. Until things changed, or I changed, or whatever, I couldn't --and wouldn't-- touch her as anything but a brother-figure. It's always been that way, even before I became a devilman. 

Though I never said anything aloud about how I wanted to palm her tits or curl my tongue around her nipples... Or spread her runner's thighs and raw-dog her until we broke the bed frame, Ryo seemed to always read my mind. 

> _"There're plenty of pleasures in the world, Akira. You should learn to indulge yourself. Go get your dick wet," Ryo said cooly, tossing a rubberbanded bankroll of cash into my lap._

Ryo could say some gross shit sometimes. That was about an hour ago, right before he said he had "business to attend to" and fucked off somewhere. He's been my best friend since childhood and that was just how he was. I never fully understood him and I probably never would. Not to sound all poetic and stuff, but he was a lot like snow; beautiful, cold, and completely unattainable. It's like when you try to catch a snowflake and it melts on contact. As long as you don't try to grasp it, you can admire it as it is. As aloof and apathetic as he could be toward life and people in general, he was always kind to me and even looked after me after I became a devilman. Nevermind that it was his fault that I am like this in the first place. I try to keep stuff simple and I don't question him much because I trust him. He's the hardass and I’m the crybaby. I feel my mouth turn down into a scowl. I never liked the name, but it couldn’t be helped because it was true. I cried a lot for other people, and pretty often. 

"Hey, handsome, why the sulky face? Are you stressed?" a voice slithered out from a parting in the passing crowd.

"Huh?" My brooding expression came natural now, and from plenty of observation at school, it really drew the girls in. Badboy appeal, I guess. This was probably one of those instances. 

Before I could fully turn to look, the loop of my arm had been taken and my tricep was wedged between a pair of big, soft boobs. They were warm and sat high and I felt a pair of perked nipples brush against my skin through the sleeve of my T-shirt. 

"I can relieve that tension for you, you know," she cooed, running her fingers down my spine and back up to the nape of my neck. It gives me the chills. Her red lips creep closer to my ear and I can smell the perfume on her. It's light and feminine, a bit like soap. But beneath it is a warmer musk of maturity and wetness between her thighs. She has a face but I can't quite shift my eyes high enough to look at it. They're too occupied looking right through her clothes. Past the black body-con dress, she isn't wearing a bra. The lace panties she wears aren't a problem to see past, either. She was shaved down there and the crotch of the flimsy fabric pulls lightly over a piercing I didn't anticipate. I wonder what it would feel like if I rubbed it with my fingers while I explored those wet lips. Maybe she'd ride the heel of my hand and bite her lip once my fingers slipped in and curled just right. I'd probably stand all of two minutes of that before ripping her panties off and digging her out against a wall. She'd tear the skin of my back with her expensive acrylic nails and I'd shove my face in her titties while she howled. I'd howl, too. I'd eat her alive from the tight, hot space between her legs up to the part in her lips. 

I can feel my heart beating in my ears now, and the bulge in my pants is ridiculous. It's actually painful and fucking heavy and that isn't helping my mood. I don't know how long I've been staring at her body or what else she's been saying since my brain went primal, but a small hand roaming a path all over my chest and descending down my stomach is the last straw. If I fucked her, not only would I feel as if I betrayed Miki, but there was also the possibility that I would lose my head and literally eat her. 

"Nope," I say, rigid in every sense of the word. I take off running as fast as my feet could move. She probably thinks I'm a weirdo now, but I'll accept that. I don't stop running until I reach Ryo's penthouse clear on the other side of town. 

The place is stupidly huge for one person and I have no idea how Ryo can afford it all. I mean, he's really damn smart and was a professor in the States, but holy shit. Either way, it's all the better for me. His badass motorcycle isn't outside so he still isn't home. That means my plan to watch porn and jack off a few dozen times would go unhindered. 

Kicking off my Converse in the entryway and leaving them in a pile, I growl-sigh in frustration and step back into the heaven-like, all-white palace that is Ryo's place. Right back where I started. It was annoying: how did he manage to keep all his shit so pristine? My eye twitches a little as I drag my feet about and mentally sift through what flavor of adult flick I would view tonight. As I come upon Ryo's massive, wall-high bookshelf, the wad of money I pull from my pocket is placed on one of the eye-level shelves for him to find later. I peeled off a few bills earlier to not snub his generosity and to eat myself to gluttony at a barbecue restaurant tomorrow. It was then that I actually decided to look at some of the books. They are clean and barely creased at the spines although Ryo was always reading when his face wasn't glued to his laptop or his eyes weren't molded to the screen of his video camera. Among the shitload of titles, some written in advanced English that I can't quite understand, one book in particular smells strongly of him and fresh ink. I follow the scent about two shelves up and reach to finger it into my possession. I falter and miss, and the smooth, white leather tumbles down to clock me on the skull before falling onto the floor at my feet. 

"Goddamn it!" I say out of reflex. It doesn't hurt as much as it should; I've limped off an entire city garbage can being thrown at my face. I'm still just pissed off from being pussyless. Nevertheless, I reach down to pick up the book. It had fallen open to page two hundred fifty-seven, where I find a too-accurately sketched picture of my dick. It's actually a picture of my entire naked form with all kinds of notes and statistics around it. Vitruvian Man-type stuff. Bringing the book closer, I note that it's all in Ryo's handwriting. Must be one of his many research notebooks. That's what he did, after all. Research was his thing. 

That's all well and good as far as I'm concerned, but I have zero memory of ever stripping down and letting him draw me. He even got the beauty mark on my ass. My brows furrow a bit but I really have to think about if I am surprised by this or not. He could be weird sometimes --or a lot of the time-- but he always thinks critically and has an eye for detail. It's like he knows so much more than everyone around him but he never says what he's thinking. I have no idea how or why that would connect with documentation of my naked body on a shelf buried among his books, but it's better left there. My fingers flip through more of the pages, some seemingly blank, some numbered totally out of order in Ryo's handwriting. I'm not sure how any of this uncharacteristic disorganization would make sense to him. 

Hmm... I wonder if he's ever gotten laid with his need to be in control of everything and his anti-people personality. There's no way he got any panties. No way. 

I feel myself making a face of bewilderment. I could not in my wildest imagination see him sleeping with a girl or guy. If it was a guy, I'm pretty sure he'd be the power-bottom. Yikes. I gross myself out thinking about Ryo taking it up the butt and shudder before I reassign my attention to the book. The thick, blank pages in my hands are crawling, or rather something is crawling on them. Words inked in black start to flower on the pages in a script I don't really comprehend. They move and appear in pieces. Is this Hebrew? Arabic? One of those foreign languages he's studied? There are even a few markings that look like runes. The more I stare at the text, the more I feel like I should know it. It's foreign and familiar, but still so unclear. I guess I start getting the gist of what is written there from instinct, but I'm not confident I know what I'm reading. 

"Destruction... revolution..." I utter to myself. It's automatic, like the words have taken control of my mouth to speak themselves aloud. "Bringer of Light... all sexes... human. Clean."

Oh. That's what I was going to do. Sex. Clearly I must be so full of cum that my brain is making shit up and I'm seeing things. I blink and the pages are as blank as when I first picked them up. Yep. I'm stressed out. The best way to fix that: head upstairs to crank out a few and go the fuck to sleep. I close the book, put it back onto the shelf as neatly as I found it, and head off. The climb up his stairs seems longer than usual, but I climb them just the same and move like a silent shadow in this white abyss.


End file.
